


The Quilt

by OrmondSacker



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: The quilt on top of Hugh's and Paul's bed holds a very important place in their lives.





	The Quilt

**Author's Note:**

> There are guilty parties in this. They all know who they are.

“You take this.” 

Hugh looks carefully at the package his mother is handing him. The tone in her voice brooks no argument about him doing so. It’s large, bulky, and soft to the touch. He has a good idea of what’s inside, the quilt she’s been working on for months now. 

“Mama.” 

“I mean it. I need to know my boy is at least warm now that he’s determined to roam around the freezing cold of space.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Hugh says carefully. 

“I know that.” She reaches out and rubs his arm with one hand. “I just need you to have something so you don’t forget home out there among the stars. That you are loved no matter where you are.” 

Hugh smiles and hug her close with one arm. 

“I promise,” he says. “I’ll never forget that. And I’ll never forget you.” 

 

**oOoOo**  

 

“I’m pretty sure that quilt isn’t Starfleet standard issue,” Paul say looking at the bed. “It’s entirely the wrong color for one thing. And it looks much too comfortable too.” 

Shaking his head Hugh swallows back a retort. Paul is still in a bad mood about basically being drafted, dragged into a war he wanted nothing to do with. For Paul Starfleet is an uncomfortable fit, something he is still learning to tolerate. For Hugh it is his life, everything he ever wanted. 

‘Maybe not  _everything_ ,’ he thinks looking at Paul as he continues to unpack his things in their shared cabin. 

“What are you smiling at?” Paul asks as he catches Hugh looking at him, his eyes narrowing. 

“Nothing in particular. I’m just glad you’re here in spite of the circumstance. That we’re no longer parted by thousands of lightyears, that I can reach out and touch you whenever I want to.” 

A slow, lascivious smile spread on Paul’s face. 

“Oh and what kind of touching did you have in mind exactly, Doctor Culber?” 

Meeting his smile with a grin of his own Hugh steps forward until he’s almost chest to chest with Paul, raises his hand and lets his fingers trail along the collar's edge of Paul’s uniform jacket. 

“I’m sure I can think of something we’d both find agreeable, Lieutenant Stamets.” 

He doesn’t miss the brief grimace Paul makes, but he’s going to have to get used to that rank, it isn’t going to change any time soon. And Hugh can’t deny he finds it just a little bit sexy.  

So before Paul can head into a tirade about the topic Hugh leans forward and kisses him, passionately and thoroughly, knowing it’ll shut him up for a while. The kiss leads to another and then to a third, followed by clothes being discarded and Hugh lying Paul down on top of the quilt. For a while neither of them says much of anything coherent. 

Snuggled up beneath the quilt afterwards, enjoying the feeling of Paul’s naked body against his own, Hugh nuzzles his boyfriend’s neck with nose. Paul giggles and gives him a playful shove. 

“You’re right,” Hugh says shuffling back and rolling properly onto his side so he can look at Paul who moves to mirror his position. 

“About what?” 

“The quilt isn’t standard issue. My mama made it as a parting present when I got my first posting on a starship.” 

Paul’s eyes go a little wide. 

“You could have told me before we...” 

“Before we what? I doubt my mother would have any objection to anything that sees her son warm and loved. That’s why she made it.” 

“Oh.” 

Hugh kisses him on the cheek. 

“Speaking of my mother, her hints that she wants to meet you is getting less and less subtle every time I talk to her. When will you meet her Paul?” 

Paul’s fingers start to draw nervous patterns on his pillow. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. 

“Then what?” 

“What if she doesn't like me?” 

“She’ll like you just fine. She knows I do, that’s all she needs. She just wants to talk to the man her son has fallen so hopelessly in love with.” 

That small becoming blush that Hugh loves so much appear on Paul’s cheeks. 

“Alright,” he says. “Next time you talk to her let me know and I’ll be there too. I might not be able to get off this damned ship in the near future but at least I can say hello.” 

Hugh reaches out and cups the back of his head. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

 

**oOoOo**  

 

Paul has been packing down Hugh’s things down to send to his mother. Or have been trying to. Perhaps deciding to do so right after the award ceremony wasn’t the best choice, but it had felt like the most opportune moment. Make a clean cut. 

It is hard, much harder, than he had thought it would be. To slowly put each item that belonged to Hugh down into a box, it feels like he’s putting the man himself away.  

But it has to be done. Hugh is dead and Paul needs to learn to live with that. Somehow. Even if it feels like someone cut the heart out of his chest, leaving a gaping hole in its stead. 

He manages, bit by bit, to pack things down, until he decides to tackle the bedroom. When he picks up the quilt off of the bed, their bed, he begins to shake. The feel of it is so familiar in his hands, the texture, the weight. He knows what the feels like against his naked skin, how warm it is to lie beneath. 

On impulse he lifts it and buries his face in it. It smells like them, like Hugh. 

Sinking to his knees he begins to cry for the first time since he came out of the network. 

 

**oOoOo**  

 

Hugh can feel Paul’s eyes on him as he packs. He keeps his movements brisk and efficient, putting his belongings into the boxes he’s brought.  

Paul is quiet, almost too quiet. Hugh is halfway wishing that he’d say something, anything at all. Instead the cabin is filled only with the sound of him packing and the occasional soft gulp from Paul. 

As he finishes up in the bedroom, he catches Paul’s eyes. 

“Don’t you want...” Paul says, indicating the quilt on the bed. 

Hugh just shakes his head, not knowing how to explain. That possession like so many other things belonged to a different man. A man who was loved, by his partner, by his family. A man who loved them. A man he no longer is. 

It is no longer his but part of the life he’s trying to leave behind. 

“Keep it,” he says, picking up the last of the boxes and walks out the door. 

 

**oOoOo**  

 

Walking Paul back to his cabin from sickbay Hugh feels more dead than alive. Far too many patients, in too little time with so many of them badly injured. At least all had survived through some miracle, even if some would take a good long while to recover. 

Allowing himself a moment of selfishness he looks Paul walking beside him. At least Paul had survived unharmed, except for a scar on his chest. And he is already ambulatory, though under strict orders to take it easy until cleared for duty.  

Which is the reason Hugh has used to walk him back to his quarters, to make sure he didn’t exert himself. Though to himself Hugh can admit that it is at least half pretext. He hasn’t had a genuine chance to speak with Paul alone since their leap into the distant future, a future that is now their present. A sickbay filled to the brim with patients and medical staff made for a bad place for an intimate conversation, and he’s been dying to have one with Paul since Paul woke from his coma. 

As they walk neither says anything, Hugh not knowing what to say and Paul seemingly lost in thoughts. 

“Do you want to come in?” Paul asks when they arrive at his door. 

“Yes,” Hugh answers, smiling. 

Inside Paul turns and gives him a worried look. 

“Please sit down,” he says. “You look like you’re about to fall down.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Paul nails him with a stare. 

“How many hours have you been going? And don’t think I didn’t notice you hovering near me in sickbay when you should have gone to get some rest, because I did.” 

“I just, didn’t want you to be alone.” 

Paul shakes his head, herding Hugh over to the couch. 

“Just sit down for a moment, would you.” 

Hugh lets himself be herded and sat down on the couch by Paul, privately thankful to finally be off his feet, and he can’t hold back a soft sigh as he sits. 

“And you give me a hard time about pushing myself,” Paul mutters. 

As comments go it can barely be counted as needling, but unwittingly Paul’s words hits a tender spot. 

“People were dying!” 

_‘You were dying.’_  The words echo in Hugh’s mind. 

Paul immediately looks contrite. 

“I didn’t mean it that way, Hugh. But it’s all over now. We’re all safe.” He takes Hugh’s hands in his. “You can rest now.” 

But the fear Hugh thought he’d put past him, assuaged by the constant, steady curve of Paul’s vital signs and then by the tired smile he had given Hugh when he woke up, roars back with a vengeance, leaving him shaking and raw. 

Paul pulls him into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace, rocking them back and forth. 

“Shhh, shhhh. It’s okay. I’m here. It’ll be alright.” 

Hugh doesn’t later remember falling asleep like that, in Paul’s arms, but he must have, because he wakes up lying on the couch, a pillow tugged under his head and his old quilt covering him. Paul is sitting at the dinner table, padd in hand, reading. 

The familiar feeling of the quilt suddenly makes the enormity of it all, that he’s separated over 900 years from his mother, that he’ll never see her or anyone he left back there ever again, sink in.  

He left her a message, letting her know that whatever she heard to believe that he was okay, and that he was happy. It was all he could tell her. He couldn’t let her believe he was dead all over again. He can only hope it’ll be enough. 

Tears forms in his eyes and he buries his face in the quilt. Lost in his grief he doesn’t hear the sound of Paul getting up and barely notices the dip in the couch when he sits down. He does feel the hand that begins to slowly stroke his back and doesn’t let up even when his tears do. 

Looking up from the quilt he meets Paul’s gaze. 

“I-” Paul starts but Hugh cuts him off with a move of his hand, tugging at his arm for him to lie down beside him. 

They’re a tight fit on the couch, even as they lie facing each other, but the feeling of Paul near him makes the discomfort worth it. 

“I don’t regret it,” Hugh says, before Paul can even think of starting again. “If I could go back and remake my decision, I’d make the same one. I meant what I said. You are my home and I am your family. But... I will miss talking to my mama. I’ll miss her.” 

“I’ll miss her too. She was a fantastic woman.” Paul wraps one arm around Hugh, his hand slowly travelling up and down Hugh’s back. “And she has a fantastic son, whom I’m so lucky loves me,” Paul finishes with a slight smile. 

Hugh shakes his head, smiling in turn, though there are still tears in his eyes and when Paul tugs him closer, he willing lets himself be cuddled in his arms. Paul pulls up the quilt so it properly wraps itself around both of them. Tiredly Hugh snuggles as close as he can, closing his eyes again, feeling safe and loved for the first time in a long time. 


End file.
